


A Gallavich Nativity

by SeaofRhye (orphan_account)



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Baby, Birth (semi-graphic), Christmas, Dad!Mickey, Daddy!Ian, EMT!Ian, M/M, Mickey Is Not Good in An Emergency, Mpreg, Nativity scene, Parents!Gallavich, Potential Light Blasphemy But Nothing Serious, delivery, labor, obstacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 14:22:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19993669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/SeaofRhye
Summary: Ian goes into labor two days before Christmas. And it's going to be a long night.





	A Gallavich Nativity

Of course Ian Fucking Gallagher would go into labor two days before Christmas. Mickey would make so many jokes about it if he wasn’t scared out of his fucking mind right now.

Around lunchtime, Ian texts him that he’s having what he thinks are Braxton-Hicks, but he “isn’t panicking” and doesn’t want Mickey to do so either. 

Easier said than done. Mickey calls him back after the second text, ready to steal a car and speed across town to take him to the hospital if necessary.

“I’m fine,” Ian says by way of a greeting, sounding ridiculously calm. “They’re really irregular and it might be nothing. We’ve got another week to go, remember?”

“The fuck does that matter?” Mickey snaps, his heart rate climbing with every word. “Kids come early all the time. Mandy was a month early, for Chrissake.”

“I still don’t think we have to worry,” Ian replies. “If they get closer together, I’ll call you. For now, though, let’s just take this one thing at a time. Okay?”

Mickey almost wants to laugh. “You’ve really got that soothing EMT voice down, don'tcha?”

Ian chuckles. “I’ve had a lot of practice. And really, Mick, I’m not worried. Don’t you be, either.”

They exchange “I love yous” and hang up, and even though Mickey knows Ian’s safe at home and has a million siblings to call if things go south, he can barely concentrate on anything for almost an hour after the call. He could be a dad--again--in the next twenty-four hours. There could be a little red-headed Gallagher-Milkovich hybrid in the world by Christmas.

Fuck. Life is insane. 

***

By the time Mickey’s done for the day, Ian hasn’t called, which is a relief. But just as Mickey’s getting into his car, Ian’s picture lights up the phone.

Heart in his throat, Mickey grabs it and answers. “Hospital?”

“No,” Ian says, still sounding calm. “Not yet. But...yeah, I think this is it. They’ve been pretty regular for two hours now.”

Mickey nearly has a stroke right there. “Shit. I mean--shit, that’s great.” He’s excited, really. But more of an “I have no idea what’s going to happen” kind of excited. “So, you’re sure we shouldn’t head out now? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do once this stuff gets underway?”

“We have time,” Ian replies. “Remember what the doctor said? Don’t bother coming in until the contractions are at least ten minutes apart and--hang on….”

Mickey hears him do some measured, steady breathing, and he wishes he could fly this car home to be with his boyfriend. 

“Okay,” Ian says after a few seconds. “I’m fine, that wasn’t so bad. But come home soon, okay?”

Like he even needs to say it. 

***

After all that, just sitting at home waiting for this whole thing to get serious enough that they can actually go to the hospital is weirdly anti-climatic. 

Not that Mickey doesn’t like to relax and watch TV after a long day, or cuddle on the couch with Ian, but he’s too nervous to really enjoy it. He keeps thinking they should just go already, because that’s what people do. They go to the place with the medical equipment and really good painkillers and doctors who might be assholes but at least know how to deliver babies, which is way more than Mickey does. He’s had dreams where he and Ian are trapped at home and there’s literally no one to do this but him, and he’ll be damned if that particular nightmare comes true.

“Hey,” Ian says, batting him lightly on the knee. “You okay?”

“Am I okay?” Mickey parrots. “You’re the one actually giving birth, I should be asking you that question.”

Ian smiles. “Mick, really, I’m fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle. But you look like you’re about to jump out of your skin. Just relax, okay?”

Mickey scoffs. “I thought labor was supposed to be hell. Chicks are always talking about how painful it is, but look at you--not even breaking a sweat. So are they lying or you?”

Ian laughs. “It’s not bad yet, that’s all I can say. It’s like bad cramps, but they come and go and I’m fine in between. I’ve had worse the last time I ate Taco Bell.”

“Shit, then maybe I should do it next time,” Mickey says offhandedly. 

“You want to have the next one?”

Something in Ian’s voice makes Mickey throw up his hands. “Kidding! Don’t get any ideas, Gallagher, we’re buying stock in Magnum after this one.”

***

Three hours later, just when Mickey’s waking up from a nap, Ian stops in the doorway of their bedroom with his bag in hand and a very nervous smile on his face.

“It’s go time, Mick.”

All fatigue leaves his system when he hears that. “Really? But--are you sure?”

Ian glances at his phone. “Last contraction was about eight minutes apart. So yeah, I think we should get going.”

Mickey’s entire body feels like he just did a line of coke, but he springs into action, grabbing his coat and shoes and almost leaving the house without fucking pants on, which Ian is busy laughing about while he runs back inside and tugs on the first pair he finds.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up and let’s go,” Mick grunts, flipping him off as they head to the car. He’s honestly starting to think this whole labor thing is seriously overhyped when Ian leans against the side of the car and almost doubles over. 

“Ian!” Mickey rushes over and puts his hand on his back, not sure if that’s helping or not. He just really doesn’t want him falling over. 

Ian’s got his head in his arms, leaning against the car and breathing deep. 

“Fuuuuuuck,” he moans, and Mickey takes back everything he said about this looking easy. He remembers a trick their doctor showed him, and starts gently massaging low on Ian’s back. He hopes this doesn’t hurt him, but Ian leans into it, so it must be helping.

After a little while, Ian finally straightens up and pats Mickey on the shoulder. 

“Thanks. That helped.”

“You’re welcome, now get in the car,” Mickey says, opening the side door and helping him in. 

***

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Ian leans back in his seat and sighs, rubbing his belly. “It’s a snowstorm, traffic is just slowing down to avoid accidents. It’s okay, Mick, we’re only five miles from the hospital. We’ll be fine.”

“We’re not going to be fine if you have the damn kid in the car!” Mickey snaps, anxiety making him unable to stay calm. “I don’t know how to deliver a baby.”

“Yes, you do. Remember that class we took? And all the stuff I made you read?”

Mickey remembers. “Okay, well, that’s all theoretical. What if I freeze up or black out and can’t remember what to do?”

“I’ll remind you,” Ian says. “Even if you panic, all you really have to do is catch the baby after they’re out, clear the airway--”

“Wipe ‘em off and wrap them up like a burrito,” Mickey finishes automatically. 

“See? You know.”

Mickey’s about to point out that knowing what to do now and knowing how to do it later are two different things, but Ian has another contraction and Mickey’s a little busy letting him death-grip his hand and telling him to breathe.

“Time?” Ian asks when it’s over, wiping sweat off his forehead. Mickey glances at his phone and notices with a sinking feeling that it’s only seven minutes between contractions. That can’t be right. Isn’t this supposed to take a lot longer?

“You’re asking me?” Ian half-laughs when Mickey voices this concern out loud. “I don’t know. I could’ve gone into labor last night and just not noticed until this morning. It happens.”

“Well, that’s fucking good to know!” Mickey nearly yells. “So, what does this mean?”

“It means nothing,” Ian says, unbuckling his seatbelt. “It means labor could pick up or stall, it means my water could break now or later, and basically, it just means we’re at seven minutes apart and I’m doing okay. It doesn’t mean panic.”

Mickey stares at him. 

“How are you so calm right now?”

Ian smiles. “EMT training. They teach you how to focus on what’s happening at the moment, not on what you’re afraid could happen.”

Mickey glances out the window to see if traffic is starting to pick up. “Any way you could teach me some of that, while we’re stuck here?”

Ian takes his hand, gently this time. “Happy to.”

***

Mickey perks up when he sees ambulance lights in the rearview mirror, about an hour later. 

“Hey, it’s your buddies!” he says, about to lower the window and maybe flag one down, but Ian stops him and watches three ambulances speed past. 

“Oh, no,” he mutters.

“What? We can just--”

“No, Mick, they’re all going past us,” Ian groans. “That means there’s an accident. Possibly a pile-up. Ahead of us.”

Mickey puts it together. “Oh, fuck.”

Ian scrubs his face with his hands. “Yeah.”

He then proceeds to zip up his coat, tug his hat back on, and before Mickey can process what this all means, open the fucking door and step out of the car.

“Ian!” Mickey shouts after him. “Where are you going?”

“They might need help.”

“You’re in fucking labor!” Mickey can’t believe he has to point out. 

“I’m fine, I just want to see if they need an extra pair of hands.”

“Extra--” Mickey’s done. He is done. He loves that Ian takes his work seriously, but he’s not a goddamn superhero. If he thinks Mickey’s just going to let him walk all the way to the scene of an emergency when he’s about to pop out a kid--their kid--he’s got another think coming.

He opens his door and hurries after Ian, who’s already making his way between the stopped cars. 

“Ian, wait the fuck up!”

***

As it turns out, the EMTs accept Ian’s help. Mickey hangs around, watching as Ian helps patch people up. He sees him stop a few times, which makes his heart clench. But he feels better knowing that he’s surrounded by medical professionals, which in lieu of a hospital is the best place he can be right now.

Eventually, Ian walks back to Mickey, looking tired but proud of himself.

“You done playing Dr. Quinn?” Mickey says tersely. “Or should we tell them to hang around until you give birth, just to be safe?”

Ian throws an arm over his shoulders. “I’m okay. I only had a few contractions. I asked for a ride to the hospital--”

“Fuckin’ A!” Mickey says, forgetting all about their still-parked car. “Let’s go!”

“But there’s no room in any of the ambulances right now,” Ian continues, holding him back. “They said the traffic should be clear soon, but we should go back to the car and hang tight.”

Mickey’s beginning to wonder if this is some kind of karmic payback for everything he’s done in his life that God (or whoever the fuck is up there) didn’t like. 

Fine, whatever, make me your bitch, he thinks the second after that thought occurs. Just leave Ian alone. He’s been through enough. 

***

The traffic manages to clear enough so that they get within two miles of the hospital in the next hour, but by this point Ian’s white-knuckling the dashboard every time a contraction hits, and they’re down to five minutes apart.

“It’s okay,” Mickey keeps repeating, one hand on the steering wheel and the other rubbing circles on Ian’s back. “It’s okay, you got this, you’re awesome--”

“Mick.”

“What?”

“Shut. Up. Now.”

Mickey removes his hand in surrender. “Okay, fine, just trying to help.”

Ian gradually relaxes and throws him a faint smile. 

“Sorry. I just can’t focus on anything else when that happens.”

Mickey nods. “Yeah, Iggy said the same thing one time when he passed a kidney stone. Is it that bad?”

“I’ve never done that, but probably.” 

“Oh, hey, there’s our exit!” Mickey beams as they approach the off-ramp. He grabs Ian’s head and plants a celebratory kiss on his temple. “We made it! You’re gonna be having that kid in a real hospital in no time!” 

“Sounds good,” Ian says. 

***

They’re one mile from the hospital when the car stalls out turning a corner, and they barely make it to the curb. 

“Are you shitting me?” Mickey yells, at no one in particular. “This fucking car--hold on, I’ll see if it’s something I can fix.”

He’s about to open the door when Ian grabs his arm. 

“What?” he says, turning back around. 

“Um.” Ian’s looking down at his own lap, and Mickey has to squint in the dim glow of the street light above them to see what the problem is. 

“Oh. Did you have to go that bad?”

“No…” Ian takes a long, deep breath and looks Mickey in the eye. “My water broke.”

***

This night could not get any worse. 

Mickey’s on hold with 911, which seems to defeat the entire purpose of calling 911. Ian’s walking around the car because he says that helps, and the car has something wrong with it that no quick fix can resolve. 

“Ian?” Mickey says, hanging up on the operator he’s finally managed to get through to. “They’re sending an ambulance as soon as they can, but they said it could be a while. Want to try and get a taxi?”

Ian shakes his head. “No. I want to walk.”

“You…” Mickey can’t even fucking believe his life right now. “You want to walk where, to the hospital?”

“Yeah,” Ian grunts. “It’s only a mile, we can make it.”

“Okay...Ian, we can’t walk all the way there with you like this,” Mickey says, holding back the urge to shove Ian back into the car. “You understand that, right?”

“I have to walk,” Ian insists. “I don’t want to sit down right now. I just have to keep moving.”

Mickey looks up and down the street helplessly. “Fine. Fine, we’ll walk a little. But only about a block, and that’s it. We are not walking a whole mile.”

He slings Ian’s arm over his shoulders and they make their way down the street. It’s steadily snowing, quiet, and despite the circumstances Mickey doesn’t actually mind being out of the car for the first time in four hours. 

“This is kinda nice,” he says, for lack of anything else to say. 

Ian hums in agreement, but doesn’t seem entirely present. Mickey glances up at him.

“Hey, you okay? What’s going on?”

Ian’s eyes are tear-filled. “It hurts. Like, worse than I ever thought it would, and it won’t stop, and we’re not at the hospital yet and I’m scared as fuck.”

Well, that about covers it. 

“We’ll make it,” Mickey says, tugging him a little closer. “The ambulance will find us, they’ll get us to the hospital, give you some drugs, and you’ll have the damn baby. Okay?”

Ian smiles weakly. “Don’t call them a damn baby.” 

“Fine, just baby. Hey, speaking of, how ‘bout we finally pick a name? We’re down to the wire here.”

Ian sighs. “I still like Amanda, but as a middle name.”

“Great, that just leaves a first,” Mickey says, trying to find solace in a very familiar conversation. “Of course, if we’d found out the sex before, we could’ve really narrowed it down by now.”

“Well, we’re about to find out. And whatever name comes to mind, that’s the one we go with.”

Mickey decides to argue with him on that front later. They don’t need the extra stress right now.

***

Just when Mickey’s beginning to think all this walking might be helping them out--Ian actually hasn’t had any contractions in over five minutes--they almost make it back to the car and Ian doubles over.

“Mick--” He topples to the ground, Mickey falling with him because he’s still got his arm around his waist.

“Shit, Ian!” Mickey rolls onto his knees and grabs at Ian’s shoulders. “What the fuck happened?”

Ian’s curled up in a fetal position, making a noise that Mickey never thought a human could produce, and it makes him break out in goosebumps. 

“Ian, talk to me,” Mickey urges. “Tell me what to do. What can I do?”

“Trunk,” Ian pants, uncurling slightly. “Emergency kit. Get it.”

Mickey bolts for the car and flings open the trunk, finds the first-aid kit and the blankets that Ian insisted on keeping in the trunk for, well, something like this. He grabs the kit and the nearest blanket and runs back to Ian’s side.

“Okay, got it,” he says, throwing the blanket over Ian’s legs because fuck knows why, it just seems like the thing to do.

“‘Kay, good,” Ian says, propping himself up on his elbows. “Now use the hand sanitizer and put the gloves on.”

Mickey goes into autopilot, doing exactly as Ian instructs, but he can’t help feeling like the situation is spiraling out of control. 

“Um...now what?” he says after he’s got the gloves securely on his hands. 

“Take off my pants,” Ian says between gritted teeth. “You have to check the progress.”

For the first time in his life, Mickey does not want to get up close and personal with Ian’s body. 

“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute!” he says, hands waving frantically. “I’m not a doctor, I don’t know how to do that!”

“I can’t do it myself!” Ian bellows at him. “Just fucking look and tell me what you see!”

Mickey fumbles under the blanket and pulls off Ian’s sweats, but is quickly at a loss.

“Uh, I can’t--”

“Use your fucking phone.”

“Right.” Mickey turns the flashlight on, ducks under the blanket, and--

“Uh…”

“Just fucking tell me if you can see a head!” Ian barks. 

“Not a baby’s head, no.” He feels a thump near his ear for that--Ian must have hit him for that. “Ow!” 

“Get back out here.” 

Mickey’s more than happy to oblige. Ian’s looking exhausted and terrified, and Mickey’d rather help him on this end.

“Are you sure you can’t make it back to the car?” Mickey says, stroking Ian's hair away from his forehead. “It’s gotta be more comfortable.”

“No,” Ian whines. “But...I don’t want to stay like this. Help me up.” 

Now that Mickey knows how to do, and when he’s got Ian safely on all fours, he can’t help making a joke.

“Kinda reminds me of the time--” 

“Shut up or I’ll fucking kill you,” Ian grinds out. His arms are shaking, and Mickey glances at the Nativity scene a few feet away and has an idea.

“Hold on,” he says, and grabs a hay bale, knocking over two of the Wise Men in his hurry. He places it in front of Ian. “Here, lean on this. It’ll get your weight off your arms.”

Ian drapes his upper body over the bale and sighs. “Thanks. How’d you know that would help?”

Mickey shrugs. “Think I heard somebody in Lamaze class talking about it. Or maybe it was a sex position, I dunno. Better?”

“For now,” Ian says, rocking his hips. “Any sign of the ambulance?”

Mickey glances over his shoulder, actually praying to hear sirens and see lights flashing for once. But there’s nothing.

And that’s when it hits Mickey that this is really happening. Ian’s probably minutes from giving birth, and they’re out here all alone. No doctors, nurses, painkillers, or anything besides a basic first aid kit in case something goes wrong. 

Please, he asks the universe or whoever exists who might give a single, solitary fuck about them, Don’t let him die. Just get the ambulance here soon.

Ian distracts him by uttering another scary noise and lowering his head.

“What?” Mickey’s right by his side, bracing his shoulders because he has no idea what else to do. “What’s wrong?”

Ian’s non-verbal for a good thirty seconds, but just watching him Mickey figures out what’s happening. 

“No,” he begs, as if that’s going to help. “No, no, no. Ian? No pushing. Just...fucking hold it or something. The ambulance isn’t here yet!”

“Doesn’t work that way,” Ian gasps. “Get back down there and check what’s happening.”

Mickey does not want to do that, but he can see he doesn’t really have a choice. Anymore than Ian does, from the sound of it. So he steels himself, turns on the phone’s flashlight again, and ducks under the blanket.

Holy fucking shit. Things definitely look different down here. 

“I see something!” he reports, wishing he could gouge his eyes out but simultaneously unable to look away. “It’s--uh, pretty sure it’s kind of a head.”

Ian makes a noise that might be a laugh or a stroke, Mickey’s not sure. After a few minutes, he hears Ian groan again, and like something out of a horror movie, the head gets closer and bigger. 

Mickey wants to throw up just watching, but he reminds himself that this is his kid, and nobody said this was going to be pretty, so he needs to sack the fuck up and do whatever he has to do to make sure the entire kid gets here safely.

“Okay, Ian? It’s coming. What do I do?”

Ian’s breathing is ragged. “Just--fucking--catch it.” 

So he does. After what feels like forever and no time at all, Mickey’s shaky hands are holding a very slippery, disgusting, screaming thing that’s covered in blood, and it’s only when he thinks to wipe some of the blood away with Ian’s discarded sweats and bundle it up in those that he realizes it’s an actual fucking baby. 

“Oh my god,” Mickey exhales, pulling the blanket down so he can show Ian. “Hey, look at this.”

Ian’s drenched in sweat and looking like death, but he peeks over his shoulder and smiles at the sight of the baby. 

“Gross, but kinda cute, right?” Mickey says, laughing from sheer relief and giddiness. “It’s--oh, shit, wait, I don’t know what it is.” He checks. “Girl! Ian, it’s a girl!”

As if on cue, he hears an ambulance’s sirens approaching, and the most beautiful sight in the world is seeing that red-and-white vehicle coming towards them.

“About fucking time!” Mickey yells, cradling the baby close with one arm and waving them down with the other. 

***

“That was…” Ian says, having a little trouble putting his words together thanks to the generous amount of morphine he’s on. “Intense.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Mickey says, stretching out on the hospital bed beside him. “I didn’t know your body could do that.”

Ian chuckles. “Me neither. I mean...I did, but...ouch. Really, really ouch.” 

“Looked that way,” Mickey replies, kissing his forehead. “You comfortable now, though? No more ouch?”

“Mmm,” Ian closes his eyes blissfully. “Nope.” 

There’s a sound from the bassinet, and Mickey turns to look at their baby girl.

“Hey, sweetheart, you wanna see Daddy?” He rolls off the bed, picks her up carefully the way the nurse showed him, and puts her in Ian’s eagerly outstretched arms. 

“Hi,” he whispers, nuzzling her head with his nose. “Oh, you smell good. Doesn’t she smell good?”

Mickey chuckles. “Yeah, she does.”

“You’re beautiful,” Ian murmurs. “Look at your hair, and your nose...she looks like Debbie did when she was a baby.”

Mickey smiles. “I think she looks like you.”

“She’s got your ears,” Ian says, tucking his head under Mickey’s chin. Mickey curls closer and takes in the sight of his boyfriend and their baby. He can’t believe they were lucky enough to survive the night, and even though the doctors and EMTs have assured them that Ian’s fine and the baby’s even better, Mickey can’t help feeling nervous every time one of them so much as sneezes.

“I’m glad you’re both okay,” he says. “I can’t believe you did that outdoors in front of a fucking Nativity scene.”

Ian giggles. “Yeah. Does that make me Mary? Oh, can we--”

“We are not calling our kid Jesus!” Mickey heads him off. “She’s a girl, Ian.”

“I know. I know her name anyway.”

Mickey sits up slightly. “Oh, yeah? What are you thinking?”

“Molly,” Ian smiles. “Molly Amanda. Do you like it?”

Mickey smiles back. “I love it. Just like her aunt Mandy!” 

Ian blinks. “Oh...shit, Mick, we have to tell her. We have to tell everyone. They don’t even know we’re here. Where’s the phone?”

Mickey gently presses him back down on the bed when he tries to sit up. 

“Later, okay?” he says, taking Molly back. “We’ll tell everybody the good news later, but now, we all need to get some sleep. Isn’t that right, Molly?”

She looks up at him and blinks, and he can’t understand how, but it makes him love her even more than he already did. He has a feeling this is going to be a regular thing from now on, and he’s okay with it.

While he rocks her to sleep, Ian keeps reaching out with one hand. 

“What?” Mickey says, putting Molly down in her bassinet once she’s asleep. “You need something? Want me to get the nurse?”

“No,” Ian says impatiently. “Want you. Here.”

Mickey grins and climbs back onto the bed next to him. “I’m right here. Happy now?”

Ian strokes the side of his face, eyes drooping closed. “You’re a hero.”

Mickey laughs, settling into the pillow. “Ah, I just did what you told me to do.”

“‘Xactly,” Ian slurs, nearly asleep. “Didn’t fuck it up. And we’re all okay. Hero.”

“Yeah, okay,” Mickey says with a smile, closing his eyes. “Good night, Virgin Mary.”

“Mick?”

“Mm?”

“Merry Christmas.”

**Author's Note:**

> You want Ian Mpreg, I give you Ian Mpreg. Merry Christmas in July.


End file.
